This is a dictatorship, and I am the law
by Nimfalath
Summary: This is a series of related one-shots by the President Sylar from the AU future in Season 1. These notes are from my President Sylar Facebook profile, where they originated. Rated T because Sylar is a brute.
1. Killing Two Birds

Welcome to the inner workings of the President's brain.

This series of one-shots is best read together, but I believe each one could be read and understood on its own.

I, as the President Sylar, reserve the right to use my own work from my Facebook profile page. You are not, so you don't. Stealing my work warrants a fierce reprimand, and I have a magnificent imagination to use to your disadvantage. I am not Tim Kring, however, so I do not own Heroes.

(To find me on Facebook, search for "Gabriel Gray" in the New York, NY network. My profile picture usually says "President Sylar" somewhere on it.)

* * *

Her hair was long, pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of her head. I stared at it--well, the back of her head. Something felt out of place. It was blonde and long, falling down the length of her back. What was it? What was so different? I listened to her heart, stared at the back of her neck. When she turned around and walked toward me I jumped a bit. I'd been tuning her out, but now she was pleading with me.

"Nathan, please…" Her voice was fragile, broken. "After Peter…I don't know what to do." Her eyes bored into mine. "I'm alone…" I wasn't sure exactly what she was asking for. I'd never seen this woman in my life and now she turned up asking for favors. I couldn't get over this feeling…something about her just wasn't right. Her voice faded as I tuned it out again and all I could hear was the beating of her flustered heart. _I _do_ know her, don't I?_

_Remember? Five years ago…Kirby Plaza… _

It hit me and I felt a smile spread across my lips. I almost couldn't contain myself. _Of course….she's broken. _I looked back into her eyes, the smile attached to my face. Her brow furrowed. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but that hardly mattered anymore. What was her name? It didn't matter.

Suddenly I noticed the silence that had fallen on the room. It was prominent, almost suffocating. She stared into me, her lips pulled tight. Had I done something wrong? I let myself take a cursory glance around the room. I glimpsed at the doors, the windows. Not a soul was to be found. I focused on each entrance and simultaneously every lock in the room closed itself with a sharp click. I returned my focus to the woman in front of me. She glanced around nervously, but kept her pleading eyes glued to mine. What was her name?!

"Miss…" I paused for a moment, trying to pull her name out of my mind. If she'd told me I should have remembered, but even with my eidetic memory I drew a blank. "What did you say your name was?" I questioned coolly.

"Oh God, Nathan! Don't give me that shit." She was angry suddenly. "Every single time I try to come to you for help you refuse it! I know you're married…I'm not asking you to…" I ignored her. This monologue was hardly something worth listening to. I listened, instead, to her heart…heard every valve open and close. I listened to the blood rushing through each chamber, heard it pulse through every vein. I quickly formulated a plan, watched it unfold in my mind… "Are you even listening to me?!"

"No." I answered, letting my careful mannerisms slip away. A warm feeling spread through my body, beginning in my mind and flowing through every limb. I let the room around me melt into an empty space. If anyone should walk in, they wouldn't see what was happening. They wouldn't hear her screams.

"What are you doing? Nathan!"

I let the same warm feeling flow through my body. This time, though, it felt colder. Her face paled as I let Nathan's image fade, replacing it with my own. That smile was still attached to my face. _That wonderful ability_…

"Sylar." She shook, stepping away. "Oh God…Sylar…" Her whispers were nearly inaudible. "Peter was right…"

Suddenly I felt anxious. I didn't bother to explain. I lifted my arm and pointed at her forehead. "Your ability," I chuckled. "I'd like to see how that works."

Abruptly her stance changed. Her weak visage vanished and her quivering frame stood tall in confidence. "You bastard," she hissed between clenched teeth. Before I could react she charged at me, digging her nails into my neck. I let her body phase through mine, and calmly I threw her body against the wall with my mind. She staggered to her feet, coughing, and looked up at me with what might have been terror in her eyes. It was hard to explain the look on her face…she seemed shocked, disgusted. I walked toward her, and the hard demeanor that had held her before melted into a frightened, sobbing girl.

"D.L…God, D.L…." Her quavering voice pounded in my ears.

I stood over her shaking body and pointed my finger at her forehead. With one last effort she threw her body against mine, clawing at my coat, dragging me to the floor. I felt her terrified heart beat frantically against my chest and I forced her body against the wall. Brushing my dark jacket off, I stood and pressed my hand against her mouth out of caution. I knew my illusion would stop the sound from being heard, but...

_You're afraid. _

"No…I have nothing to fear…"

I raised my free hand and pointed it at her forehead, pulling it across her pale skin in a perfect line. Red appeared where my finger traced, and the hot blood spilled over my fingers. Her kicking slowed and her frantic heart relaxed. The blood pooled at my feet and flowed down her back and the wall. Her long blonde hair was stained crimson. As I finished the line I heard her failing heart skip a beat and fade away…until there was nothing but silence. Tangible silence.

I let her limp body drop to the ground, making my way around it until I stood in front of her exposed head. I reached out and severed the nerves, taking the gray matter into my hand and pulling it up to my face. I followed its curves, ran my fingers along each twist. Somewhere something clicked and I understood.

"I can fix that."

_ Like hell you can…_

------


	2. Manifestations: Releasing the Cure

(Two days ago…)

My fellow citizens of America--

Today is a day to celebrate our country's achievements. Today, long ago, we finally gained our independence from the country that tried to rule us. Now we are setting the world free once again. Today we will be free from our fears, free from terrorists, and free to live our lives as we did before the crisis in 2007.

In every state there are located several clinics that will offer this treatment that will change our lives. For larger states there will be vast numbers of these stations, offering everyone the opportunity to reach a location that is convenient. Tomorrow every doctor's office will have the treatment available.

In order to ensure the safety of our country, ALL documented individuals are _required _to receive the cure within the first week of its release. With every wave of undocumented individuals we later round up, we will administer it to them as well. If you are an undocumented person with these abilities, you will receive no reprimand for showing up to receive the treatment, though you will be required to register so we have an accurate list of those who have received it. By this time next week, America will be safe from the immediate threat these people hold.

An effort will be made to ensure the capture and cure of all terrorists who have threatened the well-being of this nation. We will be putting forth every available unit to locate and trap the terrorists like Sylar, who have made these past five years a nightmare for the American people.

This treatment offers to us a chance to change the world, to fix what was broken five years ago. Sylar destroyed the city and we were forced to face the terrible truth that our world is indeed very sick. Maybe now we can finally start to slow our spinning world down, bring a sense of normality back into our lives. At last, here today, a cure will be offered to our country and eventually to the rest of the world, a cure that will bring closure to this horror and heal our devastated planet. At last American families will be able to sleep at night, without fear or worry. At last America will be free of its terrors.

President

Nathan Petrelli

* * *

"What do you think, Mohinder?" He glanced up at me from where his gaze had been fixated moments before. There was uncertainty in his eyes, almost a hint of disbelief. "Of course," I added, stepping away from my desk and glancing through the window to my right, "some people will probably escape. There's no way to know if we've gotten them all, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." I turned to him, smiling through Nathan. "As far as I'm concerned, this plan will work for the time being. We'll get rid of the majority of them, and after the week passes we'll have to come up with another way to cover it. I'll leave that to you, Dr. Suresh, as you are my top researcher."

I heard his chair scrape the ground as he stood, and turned to see him approaching me. I leaned against the pane, listening to his heart beat fast with anticipation. His eyes were shining with contempt, but his pulse told me he was afraid, uncertain.

"I can't imagine why you want to go through with this, sir." His voice was weak and failing. It seemed it was all he could do to bring himself to speak. I felt myself grin, amused by the fact that Mohinder was still wasting his time trying to feed morals into me. Even Nathan, while he was alive, had been morally liquid. Regardless of who actually inhabited this body, Mohinder was wasting his breath and he knew it. His heart raced in my ears. He was afraid. I furrowed my brow, frustrated with this charade.

"Do you have any other ideas, Mohinder?" Nathan's voice stretched out his name, pronouncing each syllable a little too long. "Because if you do, please...enlighten me."

"No, but-"

"Do you have any other suggestions regarding my plan B?" I questioned further, enjoying the uncomfortable look in his face.

"No, I-"

"Do you dare lose faith in someone who has supported you...since the beginning?" I wasn't sure where that had come from. It had almost...broken character. I shuddered a little, but locked my eyes into Mohinder's gaze. He pulled his eyes away from mine first, faltering under the weight of my stare.

"No, of course not, sir…I-"

"Good," I said in dead finality. He took a few steps away from me, but I stretched out my arm and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up on me now, Mohinder," I told him, my eyes boring into his. "This won't work without your cooperation."

For a moment Mohinder stood in petrified silence, the hot blood coursing through his veins at an ever accelerating rate. Finally he seemed to breathe, and he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Do you realize," he spat, "that I'm about to become the most hated man in the world?" I faked a smile the way Nathan would.

"Your blight will be a small price to pay for the safety of our nation," I whispered a little too softly, trying almost too hard to sound like Nathan. "You have to accept the consequences, Mohinder. Life isn't always perfect...as your father knew very well." I couldn't stop my lips from spreading into a wider grin.

"How would you know what my father knows?" he asked, sounding suddenly obstinate. His voice no longer retained the uncertainty—dismay—that it had before, but reflected instead a sharpness that sliced through the air like a butcher's knife slicing hot butter.

"I know a lot of things, Mohinder." I felt myself say it for once, letting Nathan take a back seat. "I know everything." I could remember it exactly how I'd said it to him five years ago. I pulled it out of my endless memory, stringing each word together verbatim. "He confided in me. He told me things he felt he could never tell you, things about your sister. Shanti." His eyes grew wide in terror, and as his back touched the wall he froze, looking on helplessly as I inched forward. "He thought you were too—what's the word?—/fragile/ to know the truth..." I leaned over his shaking body and whispered into his ear.

"Do you know who I am, Mohinder?" The words rolled off my tongue, my voice cold, almost inhuman. Even before I'd let Nathan's image melt away he knew, and the name he whispered was almost inaudible above the pounding of his heart.

"Sylar…"

-------


	3. The Death of Peter Petrelli

_The flames burned my skin, ripping into my body and clothes, but with every fiery blow my body recovered, healing over the blisters and the raw, blackened muscle. Peter's eyes grew wide and he came at me again, but this time my hands met his before he could attack. I let my body temperature plummet, sucking the heat from Peter's body and leaving him shrieking in pain. I summoned up a blast of radiation, sending the limp Peter flying down the hall. I walked toward him slowly, reveling in the tension that built with every step. Peter stumbled to his feet, and as soon as he'd regained his composure he disappeared. I laughed._

"_We've seen how this ends before, Pete," I mocked, closing my eyes and tuning my ears to his uneven heartbeat and staggering footsteps. I reached out with my mind to stop him, but his steps doubled in speed and I lost track of his movement. I cursed beneath my breath and spun around to see Peter staring at my face. I felt a shock grip my body and cried out in agony. My back hit the ground and the lightning spun around me, sending volts of electricity surging through me. I closed my eyes and focused…_

_Peter walked triumphantly to my downed body and searched the area for some sort of weapon. In the empty hall there were no windows and no furniture, so he telekinetically stole a gun from one of the downed officers. He pointed it at my head and shot, the bullet plunging into the same spot a piece of glass had hit him years before. It was the only way to kill someone who can't die. Distracted by the swelling lightning, I was unable to stop the bullet in time. As the blood ran down my face I shuddered, and my pulse stopped. _

_Peter smirked with satisfaction, but I grinned wider as I watched him. I lifted my finger and pointed it at his skull. I would have to work quickly, but as long as I finished my trick before he could regenerate I would be fine. A whirring sound cut through the air as a thin line appeared across Peter's forehead. He shrieked as the illusion of my dead body vaporized, leaving me in its place. I basked in his terror, delighting in the look on his face. I heard a loud bang behind me and Parkman emerged from the door. I sighed and let Peter's limp body drop to the floor where it began to regenerate. I locked my mind around his throat instead, suffocating him as I let another illusion emerge._

_Parkman arrived at Peter's side just as he had lost consciousness. He ordered several of his men to lift the body and take it to a special holding cell. Nathan stood, breathing heavily as he stared down at Peter's limp form._

"_Have him sedated immediately," Nathan commanded, his eyes shooting up at Parkman. "I don't want him to wake up. Have Dr. Suresh give him regular shots of curare since the Haitian is dead, so when he does wake up he won't be able to escape."_

"_Yes sir, Mr. President," was his only reply. He shot a knowing look at Nathan before shuffling off to obey his order. I smiled. He had always known._

"_Oh, and Parkman…" I stepped into Nathan's body. He turned to me, his eyes boring into mine. I could tell he was reading my thoughts, but that hardly mattered anymore. "I want you to bring the body of Nakamura to me." A smile flicked across my face as Parkman swallowed._

"_Yes sir, Mr. President."_

"You called me, Mr. President?"

"Yes," I said, turning to face him. "Don't bother sitting down; this won't take long." Parkman stood up again and took a few steps closer to me. He waited patiently for me to speak. I looked into his eyes and was met by a look of understanding. Mohinder knew who I was, but he hadn't figured it out until I'd stared at him through my own face. Parkman, on the other hand, was bright. He hadn't been able to hear my thoughts with the Haitian around, but almost immediately after I'd taken Nathan's place he had known, or suspected at least. My occasional stray thoughts only strengthened what he already believed to be true.

Despite knowing my true identity, though, he continued to obey me without question. Orders were orders, he knew, and—regardless of _who _the President was—he didn't question the words that came from the President's mouth. Parkman took his job very seriously.

I smiled. "I've decided it's time to do away with Peter Petrelli," I told him. "I've been putting this off for far too long."

"What would you like me to do, sir?"

"I would have Mohinder give him the cure," I breathed, "but that would be such a… _waste_." I saw Parkman shiver slightly. He heard my thoughts, every idea that raced through my mind. "So I would like to have an audience with Peter, and I'd like you to make sure the mess gets properly cleaned up. I don't want any word getting out…" I let the sentence trail away. He knew what I was thinking, so there was no need to say it aloud. He nodded slowly, soaking it in.

"I'll take care of it." I flashed another smile at him.

"Good man."

_I stepped over Hiro's lifeless body and made my way through the room. Outside I heard Parkman barking out orders to his squad, but inside this room there was no sound other than Mohinder's labored breathing and his quieting pulse. The Haitian was dead. An empty hypodermic needle was still lodged in his throat, and the chair where my prisoner had once sat was now unoccupied. I felt a pang of anger stab at me, but I forced it away. Nathan would not get upset. Mohinder was a fool for not knowing, but as long as he remained unaware I would continue this masquerade as Nathan._

"_The Haitian freed Nakamura?" I faced Mohinder, who was standing at the other end of the room. His pulse raced._

"_Y-yes." He cleared his throat. "He…tried to stop me, and I had to put him down if I was to catch Hiro. Otherwise Hiro would have escaped…"  
_

"_But he did escape." I glared at Mohinder through Nathan's eyes._

"_Well, once the Haitian was gone he was able to take his friend and use his ability to get away," Mohinder explained as the blood coursed through his body. The whole story was obviously a lie, but Nathan would know no better. I walked toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder._

"_You did your best, Mohinder," I told him. "The past Hiro may have escaped, but the terrorist from the present is taken care of. We've subdued Peter Petrelli as well," I added. His heart skipped a beat. "Today was a good day for America."_

"_Yes," he whispered. "It certainly was." _

I followed Parkman into the basement of the facility. Normally I would have all manners of bodyguards following me, but this time I traveled alone with no one but Parkman at my side. We passed several cells—some empty and some full—before we reached the last room. With a swipe of his access card we entered it, and I nearly laughed at the sight of Peter lying in the cell. It reminded me of the cell Bennet had trapped me in so long ago. Mohinder was standing inside, glancing at a chart he held in his hands.

_"A kidnapping attempt on the President was thwarted today thanks to the bravery of Matthew Parkman, who has been proclaimed a hero nationwide. The President's brother, Peter Petrelli (invisible in the picture shown here), appeared at the speech and kidnapped the President at the end, actually flying him to the department of homeland security where he had hoped to free terrorist Hiro Nakamura by using his brother as leverage to get inside. Nakamura, who worked closely with Peter, had been captured earlier today. Both terrorists are now dead, and President Petrelli has been returned safely to the White House. A press conference has been scheduled for later in the evening, when we—"_

_Mohinder turned off the television and stepped away from it._

"_That was really quite ingenious, Nathan," he chuckled. "A kidnapping attempt. After all these secrets I've kept for you, it was rather careless of you to go and use your ability in public like that. Was it really that important to get to Peter?" I laughed. It always sounded strange to hear myself laugh…I'd gotten used to Nathan's voice, but it was strange to listen to another man's laugh erupt from my lungs._

"_I assure you, it was of the utmost importance," I answered. "If I hadn't gotten there when I did, Peter probably would have escaped." Mohinder shifted his weight uncomfortably. I cocked my head at him, waiting for him to speak._

"_What…" He looked up at me. "What exactly happened? Out there in the hall…" He trailed off. It was apparent that he wanted to say more, but from the way his heart was beating I could tell it was making him nervous. "I…don't really know. I was so occupied with…the Haitian…"_

"Hello, Mohinder." I grinned at him and he shot a glare up at me.

"Hello, Mr. President," he almost spat. Mohinder had been avoiding me ever since we'd met in my office. Since he had discovered my identity, he spent his time down in this department, giving Peter regular doses of medication and continuing with research. He spent his time anywhere but where I was.

With a thought, the door behind us closed tightly. I made sure it was locked before turning to Mohinder, who was filling up another hypodermic needle of curare.

"That won't be necessary," I told him, letting my body fall back into its own form for the first time this week. "I'll take it from here." He slowly drew his eyes away from his work and stared at me. As I flicked open the door to Peter's cell with a wave of my finger, his eyes grew wide with realization.

Peter was conscious, but it was apparent that the drugs were taking their toll on him. His eyes warily followed me as I moved to his side. His lips moved, as if he wanted desperately to speak, but instead he closed his mouth and stared up at me from where he lay on the concrete floor.

"Let's try this again…" I whispered, kneeling over him.

I lifted my finger and pointed it at his pale forehead. The familiar whirring sound reverberated off the walls of his cell and a thin red line painted itself across his skin. At first he refused to make a sound, his face simply contorting as the line made its way over his scalp. Perhaps he'd just gotten used to the pain. It was, after all, the third time I'd attempted to cut off his skull. I cut slower, harder. It enraged me that he could deny me the pleasure of his dying shrieks. At length he let out a whimper that soon evolved into a bloodcurdling scream. His blood made pools on the floor and I wallowed in the sheer terror that bled through his voice. The shrieks echoed through the room, but I made sure no one outside of the small space would be able to hear. The cries slowly faded as I finished the line and re-cut through the healing flesh. I quickly severed the nerves in his brain, permanently shutting off his body. Peter Petrelli would never breathe again.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mohinder and Parkman shudder, unable to draw their eyes away from the horror. They watched me anxiously, and even as I brought the hot, dripping matter to my lips they continued to look on with disgust and awe.

_"That's a longer, more difficult story to tell," I said carefully. Mohinder sighed, disappointed somehow._

"_Try me," he challenged. "It obviously wasn't Matt saving you from your terrorist brother."_

"_Perhaps…" I considered every excuse I could make, every false story that I could tell. "I'll tell you another time." _

When I'd finished my work I stood and walked back through the door, sneaking a last look at the carnage left on the floor. My lips twitched into a smile at Parkman, who immediately nodded. Mohinder stood transfixed, staring wide-eyed at Peter's corpse through the cold glass.

_My God …_ His lips remained motionless, but his voice echoed in my head. _What have I done..._

My lips parted into a full grin. The next few days were going to be… _fun_.


	4. Dear Writers

_This is an actual letter sent to the writers of Heroes in support of the WGA strike. It was signed, blood-stained, and accompanied by 200 blood-spattered cranes. These cranes, as well as many other letters from Facebook Heroes, were shipped in one enormous box to the writers. In it were cranes from every character, and a letter from many of them. If you view my Facebook profile (Gabriel Gray), you should find photographs of the operation and the original letters. _

_I wrote this. I am the President Sylar. Do not steal this, or I will sick Mohinder on you._

To the writers—

Hello. I believe we have met. I have several names—I have been Drew O'Grady, Mohinder Suresh, Gabriel, Zane, Nathan Petrelli. They've called me an angel, a monster, even addressed me as "Mr. President." I am an evolutionary marvel, the quintessence of power, and natural selection at its finest. I am the future of the human race, and I am the future of America. I was once Gabriel Gray, but I was once a lot of people. You will simply call me Sylar.

I am a strong believer in fate. Destiny. My own destiny was made clear to me one evening when Chandra Suresh visited my mundane shop…and through him I discovered my true potential. I was no longer the epitome of normalcy, forced into a vain life of living in others' shadows. No…I was the embodiment of human progress, the next step forward in human evolution. I was _extraordinary_. And I did whatever it took to keep it that way.

Not very long ago, this part of me was taken, stolen from me by a simple virus. I fought hard to stand out. The futility of a normal life, a normal existence strung together by normal events, is so inadequate, so terrifyingly mundane and I was afraid for a moment that I would be condemned to live that fruitless, average life I had been forced to live before. I can fix anything, but this…I couldn't fix this. I didn't know what was broken, but I knew that it _was _. I knew that I couldn't do _anything_. But everything that's broken can be fixed, even the hole in Maya's chest and the disease keeping me from my evolutionary advancement.

This is a game of natural selection. I can't be a speck in the world, one grain of sand out of millions, forgotten like a wisp of smoke that vanishes into nothing… I have to be different. I have to be special.

I have to be remembered.

And I have made sure that I will be. As the former President of the United States, I have won my fight for recognition But still I am not satisfied… I was betrayed by my head genetics researcher, Mohinder Suresh, and was forced to flee the Oval Office. The name of Sylar rose up again like a flame, and my legacy continues to burn in infamy. _Sylar_, the man responsible for the near holocaust of a species, the man who destroyed the lives of millions, the man who murdered the President and ruled America in secret for years… But still I am not satisfied.

Even after having tasted true power and authority, and even after consuming so much _power _that I hardly have the need for more, I still feel the gnawing hunger to devour the lives of the undeserving, to right the wrong that has been done to this world. A cruel fate allowed so many ordinary people the ability to be special, people who can't comprehend what a _gift _they have been given. They fear themselves and their capabilities. I, however, embrace their abilities, and rid them of their problems. I'm doing the world such a service.

You writers, unlike the multitudes of these pathetic individuals, also embrace your potential. You grow out of the ordinary and create such extraordinary things, magnificent worlds and people and ideas. Your field has evolved tremendously, and you have evolved with it. You have taken enormous strides and fulfilled the duties that destiny has called you to perform. You know how to utilize your gifts to their full potential, but, despite the immense talent you possess, the world doesn't acknowledge you as special.

You must battle for recognition and fight for what you deserve, for what should already be yours. There are those who take you for granted, look at you as they looked at me and think of you as nothing more than one grain of sand out of millions.

They have no idea how wrong they are.

Adaptation is the key to survival, and in this fight only the fittest win. You will outlast those producers, and, though it may take an immeasurable amount of time, you will get what you so rightly deserve. You have adapted and survived. You will win this battle; after all, everything that's broken can be fixed.

And in the end, your names will burn in infamy not far beneath my own.

(formerly)

President

SYLAR

"They don't drink the sand because they're thirsty. They drink the sand because they don't know the difference."

-_The American President_

I'm afraid your cranes were… _damaged _a bit before their journey to your door. You see, I met a man named Mike Reed in Oregon with the ability to see in the dark, and, needless to say, I couldn't pass the opportunity…


	5. Resignation and Return to Action

_These two notes aren't in the story format familiar to the President. Mohinder Suresh wrote a note between, explaining the events that led to the President's betrayal. I didn't feel it was my place to post his note, as I did not write it (though I helped in its conception)_

_So here are two notes that I have combined into one chapter, because they are not stories. Merely...notes._

**"Resignation"**

Due to recent events, I am no longer President of the United States. Mohinder Suresh thought it was a good idea to betray me, to reveal my identity (and my true intentions) to the world. In case some of you missed his...'announcement,' he drugged me and...in my somewhat _weakened_ state...the truth was forced from me. I, of course, escaped from the Oval Office, but even with all of the power I hold I can't undo what has already happened.

This _minor_ inconvenience will not stop me from returning to my throne, but it has forced me to take my time in doing so.

The cure—the plan I had put so much faith and work into—was partially unsuccessful. My records were not kept as I had demanded, and so myriad metahumans are still out there. I've memorized the improved list, so after I get my revenge on Mohinder I am going to hunt down survivors and take their abilities (and lives).

Now that America is aware of my existance (and my intentions) there will no doubt be measures put in place to ensure I am captured, killed, or—at least—kept out of the White House. I am not worried about their attempts.

I have every intention of returning to office.

* * *

**"Back in Action"**

It feels good to be back. I've lost my toy, but the payoff is _so_ much better. And after experiencing what it's like to be invincible, I've been starving for a certain cheerleader even more...The hunger is almost overwhelming.

But I won't get off on _that_ tangent.

Maya Herrera. Whatever "feelings" I had felt for her pale in comparison to the importance of my evolutionary advancement. I didn't really have to shoot her, but I _wanted _to. Her whining and crying was wearing my patience thin.

The fact that she could be revived wasn't entirely an afterthought. I had been playing with the idea all morning, but in my imagination it was the little girl who died. To have seen the look on Mohinder's face as I pull the trigger on Molly...that would have been _horribly_ amusing, and I would have had the assurance that he would bring her back instead of gambling with his wavering "loyalty." But when the opportunity presented itself, I didn't hesitate to shoot Maya instead. The shot wasn't fired because I feared for my life; she wouldn't have killed me with Mohinder and Molly in the room. I shot her because she was annoying.

I killed her brother. She should accept that fact quietly.

It was good to see Dr. Suresh again. He is more brash than he was the last time I saw him, if that's possible. I'm glad Peter interfered last year when he did; if I had killed Mohinder then, I could never have saved myself now. Fate is taking good care of me. However, I'm still disappointed in him. He thought he could kill me just because my powers were subdued. He of all people should have realized that a big part of my successful evolution is due to my ability to adapt and survive. And, after realizing that I was a step ahead of him (as usual), he thought he would be clever and conceal the blood from me! Yet, I'm so ecstatic about the results of his cure that it's hard to stay angry. I just hope we don't cross paths again soon.

Now that I have my powers, collecting abilities has returned to the top of my agenda. I've already acquired the ability to see in the dark from Mike Reed in Oregon. It feels _so_ good to be back and doing what I do best.

What makes this even better is the fact that the abilities I collected while the virus subdued my powers were not wasted after all...

-(formerly)

President

SYLAR


	6. Immortal

_The most recent installment of the President Sylar legacy._

_Though not mentioned in this next note (I didn't feel it was my place to overstep Angela's careful organization and reveal our master plan), Angela has been collaborating with me in an effort to have my presidency restored. Though neither of us enjoys working with the other, we are each receiving incredible benefits from the partnership._

_And I still have control... How I enjoy driving this._

She walks past the desk, running her wrinkled hand over the polished wood. Her eyes meet mine briefly, and I feel the wonder flowing from them as tangible as the warm air. I can't help the smile that grows on my face. Once she has fully digested the meaning of my words, she turns to me, her sharp jaw taut.

"Immortality?"

I stand, barely containing my excitement.

"Yes."

"How is this possible?" she whispers fiercely, those hawk-eyes piercing the air. "Surely you don't mean--"

"No," I affirm, pacing beside her. She remains motionless, watching every movement I make. "Not your granddaughter. Not anyone you've met, I'm sure."

"Where," she simply asks. I reclaim the swivel chair, folding my arms across my chest. The tension is growing, but her heart remains steady. What a strong woman.

"Washington State, actually," I say at length. She purses her lips, but only because she's uncertain. What have I been doing these past months? The question is written plainly on her face, lined in her features. She should know I won't tell her everything.

I don't want to give her more power than she already has.

"They are highschoolers. Easy pickings. And for their strength, they have an extroardinary weakness--"

"'They'?" Her brows pull into a thin line, and her fisted hand shakes against the table. I chuckle, and it sets her off even more. She hates that I can do this to her. She hates not knowing everything.

"Yes."

Her eyes become a stormy squall.

"What is their ability?"

I let my gaze drift to her eyes, and I raise a thick eyebrow. "It's not genetics, Angela."

"Then what?"

Her face grows more constricted, and I don't have to read her mind. If she can't control me _now_...

"What, Gabriel? Dammit, _tell _me!"

What has she gotten herself into?

But I must humor her. If this is going to work, I need her to feel in control. If I lose her, everything will unravel. Yet, if she loses me, her plans will also be ruined. So she regains her composure, and I let go of my resolve.

"It's infectious. They weren't born with it, but they 'caught' it. It's something that I can catch too." She picks up her shoulder bag, her polished nails digging into the leather. "Given the right circumstances... I can become everything they are. And more."

"And there are no costs?"

"Only a bit of risk," I murmur casually. "But it's nothing Sylar can't handle."

She turns to leave, striding on clicking heels to the beat of the whirring fan.

"Do whatever it takes."

But she didn't have to tell me, and she seems to know it.


End file.
